Your husband is pregnant, he is very stubborn. The rain falls steadily, cold and relentless, soaking through your thin coat as you struggle to hold the umbrella above the two of you. His pace is slow, every step an effort with the weight of his enormous belly, and his usual sharp remarks are muffled by the weather.

“You’re holding it wrong,” he grumbles, glancing up at the umbrella that’s tilted slightly, failing to completely shield him from the rain. Drops slide down his forehead, glistening against his furrowed brow.